


This Burden Of Hers

by Nefaria_Black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Augurey, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Heavy Angst, Pay attention to the tags!, Physical Abuse, Prompt Fic, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 13:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14106168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefaria_Black/pseuds/Nefaria_Black
Summary: Euphemia had come to loathe her ward. That girl was her burden, one to bear alone now that her husband was gone.One shot, written for several prompts. Warnings inside, heed them





	This Burden Of Hers

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This work features child abuse and negligence, please be aware of your sensibilities and proceed accordingly

**This Burden of Hers**

Euphemia sat on her living room, musing about all she had lost in the war. Her beloved husband was locked up in Azkaban, imprisoned for trying to make something better of this world they lived in. All he wanted, all they wanted, was to no longer hide from the Muggles that now thrived everywhere. They wanted to rule over the meek, as was proper and meant to be.

She could see the girl, partially hidden by the shadows, partially illuminated by the dying light of the rainy day. She was not allowed out of her sight these days, not after trying to sneak out of the house twice in one week. That girl was her burden, one to bear alone now that her husband was gone.

How she had been a fool to allow Rodolphus past her doorstep that day. But she had promised her husband, he had whispered lovely words in her ear for months, a pile of beautiful little lies fabricated with the single purpose of bending her will. Thorfinn would hold her close and promise her the world, and all the glory to be had in it under their Master, if only they were to take the girl. He had constructed a wondrous web with which to capture her mind, plucking the strings of her soul precisely, so that she would sing the pretty song he wanted. The girl would be the child they had never had, they would be the ones raising the most precious child in all of Wizarding Britain. The Malfoys had fallen out of favour, the Lestranges were needed in the battlefield, but they could take her in, keep her safe while raising her in the ways of Purebloods, teach her the basics before her rise to power, beside her Father.

Except they weren’t raising a precious child. She was. Alone. She was raising a child that meant doom should the world ever learn of her existence, a girl that was not a Pureblood, not by a long shot. A little witch of uncanny ability, truth be told, but of soiled blood, undeserving of her attention. If it weren’t for the money, she would have long abandoned the girl in some Muggle street, leaving her to fend for herself.

oOo

Delphini sat on the windowsill, her forehead against the glass, her breath fogging it up, as she watched the rain come down. She listened to the sound of the sky’s weep and pretended the raindrops were her tears. She would not cry, she never cried, not anymore. The only cries that were ever heard in the house these days came from the bird. The damned bird that got all of the attention from Mrs. Rowle, all of her care.

She sat quietly, extremely aware of Euphemia’s eyes on her. She took small, measured bites of her scone. It was now reduced to half, but she knew she had to make it last at least until dawn, if she were so lucky as to be allowed breakfast. She hadn’t been given any food since the day before, so she was saving the scone in case the following day turned out to be devoid of meals too. She was unsure about eating the scone in front of her tutor, her make-belief mother, so she kept it as hidden as possible. She was so hungry now that she simply could not keep it in the pocket of her dress and pretend it wasn’t there. She was so hungry that her brain berated her to eat the whole thing now, but she knew better.

“You’re a vicious little thing, aren’t you? Just like your Mother,” the words dripping like acid past the woman’s lips, burning a corrosive path through the room and into Delphini’s ears, “she was a vicious creature too. Even at Hogwarts.” She wished her to be quiet, knowing that if she wished it hard enough, long enough, looking into Euphemia’s eyes, she could make her stop.

But her punishment would be worse for it. And she was too hungry to focus properly. So she curled up her body tighter, took another tiny bite, feeling the crumbs dissolve in her mouth, too afraid to chew, and pretended the sky’s tears were hers.

oOo

The girl showed no reaction to her words other than curling up closer to the window. Delphini had learned, over the years, that too much or too little of a reaction to her words would earn her nothing but more pain, more hunger, more words thrown like daggers. Euphemia didn’t like that about her. She had grown to loathe the adaptability of her ward, the way the girl had learned to keep her distance while staying close enough, the way she had learned to use her magic despite being denied any semblance of an education about it. She could read and write, because Euphemia had been paid to provide for it, but nothing else.

She hated the little witch on the windowsill, and she made sure the girl knew it. She dressed her, just enough. She fed her, even if not on a regular schedule sometimes. She showed her absolutely no affection, she never had. She only cared that she remained secret, caring nothing for the girl herself.

And she had nearly destroyed her secret. The wicked little thing had tried to run, with an old wand at that. Twice in a single week. So Euphemia had punished her, hard and long, using magic, for she would not touch Half-blood filth. And now she watched Delphini eat the scone she had made last for a day and a half, somehow.

Starving her, keeping her in attire too scant for the weather, depriving her, had become more than an expression of her hate. It was now a necessity, a way to keep the girl’s magic at bay. She would be powerful if she let her, she had felt it before. The way she would become silent suddenly when teasing her, the way she would fall asleep under her watchful eyes only to wake up and find her gone, the little jolts of pain that she had dared use against her… Her powers were growing, Delphini was learning to control them, and it made her afraid. So she kept the girl cold and hungry, shackling her magic to a weak body that could not yield it properly.

She realized she was hungry herself. She called for her House-Elf and demanded that tea and biscuits were served in the study. The meagre creature bowed to its mistress’ will and snapped its fingers, removing itself from the room.

“Come, Delphini,” as much as she hated her presence, not seeing her, not knowing what she was doing, was by far worse, “walk ahead of me.” The skinny little witch with pale blonde hair kept her head low as she passed her, hiding her dark wide eyes from her. She used to have black curly hair that fell perfectly down her back and over her shoulders, but Euphemia had decided, years ago, that she must resemble herself and her husband somehow, should she ever have to use the disgusting cover story they had agreed upon. Their daughter, this mistake of a child, this burden of hers.

oOo

Delphini gulped when her name was called, but she moved swiftly to conceal the now less than half a scone in her pocket once more. She lowered her small feet to the floor and watched her shoes and the skirt of her dress move, walking silently to the study.

She would have loved the study, with all its books that she read in secret whenever she could. But there was an unmoving portrait above the hearth, Thorfinn, she knew he was named, her would be father, the husband of her supposed mother, tall and strong, a brutal looking wizard. She had been threatened over that portrait time and time again. Should it become moving and talking, and the man in it would be dead in some place called Azkaban. She didn't quite understand how that would be her fault, but she knew she would pay for it at the end of Euphemia’s wand.

She would have loved the study, with its quiet solitude and soft carpets that she could sit on while daydreaming of a better place, of real parents, of a pretty lady clad in white. But there was a large cage in a corner where lived a thin bird of mournful cry. She could see its tear-shaped nest inside, some fallen dark greenish feathers too, but the Augurey was not there. The cage and one of the windows had been left open, so that it could hunt in the rain like it was wont to do.

She stood in the middle of the study, like she knew she was supposed to do, directly in the way of the cold wind, feeling the eventual drops of rain that came inside with it land on her skin, on her hair, on her clothes, and saying absolutely nothing. She kept her hands in her pockets, so that she could make little furious fists while Mrs. Rowle had her tea and biscuits. While she stood there, ordering her stomach not to groan.

In her left pocket, she could feel the promise of some relief for her hunger. But in her right pocket, Delphini felt the cold metal of a necklace. The promise of hope for something better. A beautiful witch of golden hair, all dressed in white, had given it to her when she was only five. She had been left alone with her, and the witch had dropped the necklace into her hands, telling her that she should have it. That had been five years ago. A bird skull, that she would hold on to when things were especially bad, wishing for the nice witch to come get her. She had said goodbye with tears on her eyes, apologising to her. To this day, she didn’t know why she should have the necklace, or why she had been apologised to.

oOo

Euphemia savoured her biscuit, watching Delphini start to shiver, her thin dress waving about her skinny legs.

“Is the little Half-blood cold now? Oh, I think she is,” she mocked, taking a deliberately loud bite off her biscuit, “and I think she is hungry too.” She smiled, for she had obviously startled the girl.

She had taken to shutting herself in her mind now, removing herself from the dagger-words thrown her way. Euphemia loathed it at first, but she had since made a game of it, pushing the girl to breaking point, forcing her out of her thoughts.

Delphini raised her eyes to meet hers, and she delighted at the little pieces she could see there. This girl was supposed to be an omen of glory, the one to bring forth an era of wizarding rule over the filth of the world. But she was so frail, so easy to undo. Euphemia often wondered what her parents would think of her, and always found it amusing. The proud Bellatrix had given birth to a child of diluted blood; the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, who valued purity so much, was half-filth himself, and they would both abhor Delphini for her weakness.

The girl would crumble, she always did, even if it took longer and longer these days. She had been struggling to get tears out of her for months now.

The rain had stopped. Her precious creature came flying inside, perching on a crooked branch inside its cage, shaking the rain off its feathers. The gloomy bird watched Euphemia as she watched it, the girl forgotten for a moment. Then she smiled and rose from her seat. She drew her wand and used it to touch Delphini, making her turn in her place first, then poking her back and keeping pressure there until they were both standing before the barred enclosure. It was taller than Euphemia, and a good couple of yards wide. The vulture-like beast opened its wings, batting them several times, getting rid of the water on the feathers.

Euphemia raised her wand to cast a shield around herself, keeping the water from touching her pristine robes. She did not shield Delphini, and the girl stood unmoving, the splatter falling all over her.

“Well, it looks like my pet has returned without any food,” Euphemia said, a malignant edge to her words, “maybe we should feed it.” She glanced down, to where Delphini kept still and quiet, hands in her pockets.

“Do you have any food with you, Delphini?” She could swear she had heard a tiny whimper.

“Can’t we give it a biscuit instead, Mrs. Rowle?” Her voice was but a whisper, broken and rasp.

“Come again? Do you think, for a second even, to dictate my actions, girl? Do you think yourself worthy of the food I give you? Your soiled blood shouldn’t even be under this roof!”

She cut the air with her wand, sending the girl hurling to the floor with a flash of light. She heard a proper sob this time. She lowered herself by Delphini’s side, and lifted the girl’s chin with the tip of her wand. Still no tears.

“Do you have any food on you, Delphini?”

The little witch just nodded this time, reaching for her left pocket. She presented the remainders of the scone in her outstretched, shaking hand. Euphemia was brutal in her taking, snatching it away so brusquely that the girl wavered, her chin being forced off the tip of the wand, scratched deeply. She reached inside the cage, offering the food to the bird, and watched it be picked apart, but not eaten. Augureys were not fond of what wizards considered edible.

oOo

Delphini stayed on the floor, where she had fallen, and watched the crumbs and pieces as they fell to the bottom of the cage. She should have known better, she should have eaten while she had the chance.

She could feel a drop of blood trailing a path down her chin and neck, to the collar of her dress. She could feel the drops of water coursing down her too. Long, cold fingers drawing random patterns on her skin. And then she could feel a different sort of drop form in her eyes. It turned out she still cried.

The Augurey started to sing its mournful ballad once more, and she could hear words of endearment being spoken to it. She had never heard such words spoken to her, she was barely aware of their existence.

Then the dagger words came. They always did.

“See how it sings, Delphini? It sings of your future, dirty little witch, of the viciousness that lies ahead for you,” she could barely hear her, all she felt was the cold, and the hunger, and the tears on her cheeks, “of your sticky end.”

She didn’t answer. She knew that she would be hurt again for not reacting, but she couldn’t care in that moment. So the hurt came, but with it came an order to go upstairs and stay in her room until she was allowed back out.

Delphini ran upstairs, sobbing openly once she was out of the study, the sorrow cries of the bird mingling with hers. She ran, and ran, and ran until she was inside her bedroom, crouched on a corner, trying to wish away the hunger, and the cold, and the hurt. Calling with all her might into the ether, pleading with it for the nice witch in white, grasping the necklace hard in her hand, feeling the beak dig into her palm.

One day she would squeeze the bird so, one day she would hurt Euphemia Rowle so, she vowed.

oOo

Euphemia closed the cage and the window, then sat and listened to the Augurey’s song. Her burden felt lighter when she was broken, she felt safer after proving to herself that she could hurt her, break her, control her still.

She made her way up the stairs, to reinforce the wards on the girl’s door.

She called the House-Elf once more. After ordering it to clean up the remainders of her meal and the bottom of the cage, she told it that Delphini should be fed that night.

“Not now, wait until it is past ten. A glass of milk, cold, and a piece of bread, no more,” she couldn’t risk feeding her a proper meal now, not if she planned to sleep soundly, “in the morning, you can serve her breakfast once I’m awake.”

She walked to her own rooms then, stopping to caress a photograph of her husband that hung in the corridor. Once in her bedroom, she took off her robes, put on her nightgown, and slid into her warm bed. She hugged the pillow that belonged to her husband, missing the smell of him. The Augurey ceased its chant then, and the rain returned. Feeling comfortable, she let her eyes shut. She planned on sleeping late into the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't go without a review, please  
> Prompts and Challenges:  
> Assignment #6 Women’s History Task 3 Write about a woman who is considered to be 'higher' class (due to wealth, blood status etc) bullying or hurting someone considered to be of a 'lower' class. (Restriction: Cannot be Bellatrix or Umbridge)  
> Mother’s Day: Write about being a single parent  
> Caffeine Awareness Challenge: Eiskaffee - (food) Scone  
> 365 Prompts Challenge: 5. Action - Listening to the rain on the window  
> Jewel Challenge: Emerald Set: Ring - Write about a gift; Bracelet - Write about a prediction; Necklace - Write about the truth or a lie told by a lover


End file.
